


Bread and Stone

by Morningstarofnight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morningstarofnight/pseuds/Morningstarofnight
Summary: Crowley meets a stranger wandering in the desert.
Relationships: Crowley & Jesus (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange





	Bread and Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OAbsalom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OAbsalom/gifts).



_“I'm driving through the desert I, met a man_  
_Who told me of his crazy plan_  
_He'd been walking there for 20 days_  
_He was gonna walk on_  
_For 20 more_  
_I said “How about a drink or a bite to eat?”_  
_He said “No, my faith is all I need”_  
_So then, save me_  
_Save me mister walking man_  
_If you can”_

-Dave Matthews Band, “Save Me”  
[[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EADFrvg0Qc)]

Sometimes, Crowley wandered. Not a meander, nor a stroll down some lane or alleyway in among the countless nooks of the human cities, but a wander. Hopeless, weary, staggering over rocks and sand like he had in the days following his Fall. Out. Beyond all traces of human life, until his only companions were slender wolves trotting alongside in curiosity and ibex watching from rocky slopes.

So, the man came as a surprise.

They stared at each other. One demon in a black abaya, one human with dark hair and a beard grown unkempt over time spent in the wilderness, sitting on a rock.

One human who met a demon’s eyes and did not flinch.

Crowley slowed to a stop. The man patted the rock next to him, in clear indication to sit down. Crowley sat.

“What brings you out here?” he asked, voice amiable, as if the occasion were as normal as passing a stranger on a well-traveled road.

Crowley wordlessly pointed into the distance, to a mountain.

“Ah. You know, I’ve been out here for nearly a month, and yet I haven’t made it up that one.”

“A whole month, out here? Aren’t you hungry?”

The man shrugged. “It comes and goes. I do what I must to survive, but that is precious little.”

“Why not go to Galilee? It’s not too far, since you’ve made it here.”

He waved the question away. “No, I don’t think I’m done out here yet.”

“And what business is so important you have to stay in the desert?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Talking to my Mother.”

_That_ came like a slap in the face, and Crowley jerked involuntarily. He _heard_ the capital letter. Unless this man was visiting some unmarked grave for a human relative lost to the harsh elements, there was no other mother he could be talking to, whose presence could be felt even in the desert.

To distract himself from that revelation, Crowley cast about for something he could do. What does a wanderer in the desert, who brings nothing with him and walks as if he is dead and his body possessed to keep moving to some unknown destination, offer to another wanderer?

Turning back to the man, Crowley held up a loaf of fresh-baked bread. Steam rolled off of it. “You don’t have to go hungry, you know. Here.”

He broke it, and offered the chunk to the man. He looked at it in surprise. “What?”

“Take it. You’re human, you need food.”

The man gently pressed the bread into Crowley’s palm, and softly pushed it away. “No. Thank you for your kindness, but truly, I don’t want it. I’m out here for my faith, for reflection on the word of God. Man shall not live on bread alone, after all. Besides,” he winked, “I’ve been doing just fine on snakes.”

“Fine, then, see if I do a good deed again,” Crowley muttered under his breath, tucking the bread away into his abaya in such a way that the bread simply disappeared into nothingness.

They sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the wind.

“What do you do when you aren’t wandering around out here?” Crowley asked.

The man shrugged. “By trade, I’m a carpenter. My father taught me. It’s good, honest work, but I feel I’m meant more to…reach out to people. I needed some time to settle my thoughts first.”

“Come up to the mountain with me,” the demon said suddenly.

He didn’t know why he offered at first, until they were standing at the foot of its great and rocky slopes. “You can see for miles.”

The climb was arduous for a human, and even for Crowley it made something deep within him ache. From the summit, the baked valley below was dotted with the tiny forms of huge boulders and smaller outcroppings. Crowley came up to this mountain for one reason: on the eastern side, the rocks fell away in a sheer cliff. He liked to step off the edge and open his wings at the last minute.

“It _is_ beautiful up here,” the man said, keeping well back from the cliff.

“If you fell,” Crowley mused, and hesitated. “If…you Fell, do you believe God would…” The words were hard to form, and he bit his tongue for a moment before wording it like a temptation. “It is written that She would command Her angels to save you. There would be no danger. Would you not try to put those words to proof?”

The man took a step forward, and glanced down at the long drop. “No, I don’t think I would. She is not a force I would test.” He turned his head and stared into Crowley’s eyes again, and the demon was once again conscious that this human was looking directly into the yellow eyes of the occult and not flinching. “I think you have, though. How did that go for you?”

Crowley snorted. “Poorly.” Then, “What I meant was – do you think She…would still _want_ to save you? Even if you fell by your own stupidity? Even if you couldn’t see the bigger picture, the rocks at the bottom?”

The man considered this. Then a gentle smile crossed his face and he said, “Isn’t that what we all hope for?”

When the man turned back to the view, a strange mirage lay sparkling in the heat waves. City upon city, rising from the desert. Tall spires. Stone walls. Life, tiny crawling ants of people moving along their streets, with wagons and animals and crates and barrels.

“Now you’re just showing off,” the man said. “I could have explained away the bread and the eyes.”

“Well. I figured – you know, here’s a guy, wild man sort, probably never going to travel very far in his life, why not.” Crowley waved a hand, as if it was something anyone would do. “These are the kingdoms of the world. Now, at least, you can say you’ve seen them.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “And how shall I explain how I have done so, when someone asks?”

Crowley shrugged. “I could take you to them all, if you like. Consider this me tempting you to some fun.”

The man laughed.

“Just – do one thing for me, please.” Crowley averted his gaze. He wanted to say many things.

_Worship me._

_Save me._

“Remember me?”

The man looked out on the sparkling vision. There was a displacement of air next to him, and a flapping sound. He waited for several minutes before turning. High in the sky, flying west, was something that he could explain away as a dove.

When he looked back, the mirage had faded, leaving behind only the dusty desert and its great cities of baked stone.


End file.
